Things
by Saiphor
Summary: Set after Season 5 finale. Hypothetical: What if Sam was really dead? How would Dean deal with it?
1. Blanket

Set after season 5 finale. Exploring how Dean deals with Sams death on a sleepless morning. Actually this is supposed to be longer. The initial idea was completely different and I hope that I will still get to it. But I feel that this little ficlet works Ok so far. I hope to be able to update soon to get the rest of my idea out of my head. It's tormenting and sad and I want to get rid of it ...

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine but the sadness.

**Things.**

**Blanket.**

It's been a week. A week since Sam jumped, fell, died, and saved the world.

Dean ran a hand across his tired face and let his gaze wander to the alarm clock. 4:56 am it blinked.

Dawn was creeping up behind closed curtains and birds were chirping outside the window. Those damn birds! Dean thought scowling. Couldn't they shut up, at least for once? It was all he was asking for, just one morning without them living on as if nothing bad had ever happened, without them praising all of creation as if it wasn't terribly, horribly flawed. He sighed. And Lisa shifted her weight next to him.

She fitfully turned in her sleep, her hands wandering across the crumpled linen as if she was searching for something. And then her hand fell on his shoulder and she instantly calmed. Unconsciously her warm body snuggled up to him and she wrapped her arm around his waist. Her face softened, her breath tickled the skin of his neck. He watched her. She was beautiful. Perfect white skin, high cheekbones, long dark lashes, sinful lips slightly parted, and long black curls luring his hand to play with those soft strands. She was perfect, everything he could have hoped for and much more.

He couldn't care less.

Instead of the habitual response his body had in store for a female touch – the pleasurable heat of sexual arousal – his chest ached with emptiness. Suddenly he found it hard to breathe and almost choked. The tender weight of Lisas' arm was too much to bear, threatening to pull him down into the darkness of his memories. He had to get out of here!

As careful and slow as he possibly could he slid away from her and silently tip-toed out of the dim room.

Out in the hallway he took a moment to catch his breath. Dean focused on the air streaming in his lungs, filling them for a while and then leaving them with a sigh. He repeated this a couple of times and felt the pain in his chest subside, at least a little. When he could be sure that he wasn't just going to collapse in front of his new girlfriends bedroom he made his way down to the small guest bathroom in the first floor. Without turning on the light he splashed cold water in his face. He didn't pay any attention to the dark shadow his reflection cast in the mirror as he turned to leave.

Dean stood indecisive in the downstairs hallway, wiping his hands dry on his T-shirt and his boxers. Where should he go? He didn't want to return to Lisa. If he woke her he'd have to endure the pitiful look in her eyes, and answer her worried questions. And he doubted that he could muster up the strength to lie right now. Maybe he should just wait it out in the living room. Ben would have to get up in two and a half hours. He could make coffee for Lisa in two, let the scent fill the house and then wake the boy. Sounded like a plan.

The couch looked comfortable enough, maybe he'd even manage to get back to sleep. And wasn't there a blanket somewhere? He rummaged through one of the big bottom drawers of the wooden shelf and found a white, cotton blanket. He looked at it in disbelieve. It was so… homey. Hesitantly his fingers caressed the soft fabric. It was nothing like the sorry excuses of blankets they used to find in their shabby Motel rooms. This wasn't just the stained remnant of a once new bedspread he used to wrap Sammy in when he was sick. This was purchased with the intention of keeping someone warm and making them feel safe, it was chosen with love and care. It wasn't something that was 'just there' if you were lucky.

He remembered how his brother had stolen a blanket of one of the nicer places they'd stayed in. Sam must have been about 9 years old. And he dragged that ugly brown polyester thing with him when they'd finally left the small town in their rear view mirror. He'd cherished that stupid rag like only a nine year old could. Dean used to make fun of him back then.

His hands started to shake. He let go of the cloth as if it had stung him. He slammed the drawer shut and stood again, a lifeless statue in the living room, not knowing where to turn to.

Family homes are a weird thing, he thought and walked to the big window that overlooked the street. It was the time of day when the world still seems fragile and it's slowly finding its way out of the land of dreams and back into reality.

There was a small hill behind the dark row of houses on the other side of the street. Trees grew there. Their ragged branches lined the silver horizon. The sun was creeping up behind them. And those damn birds increased their volume. It would be a perfect day, sunshine and blue skies, and somehow he would have to make it through it.

a/n: This is my first fic in English, so please be gentle. (I really do appreciate grammar corrections. So if anything is sounding odd or completely off and you are willing to write that down. It would be greatly appreciated.)


	2. Duffel

A/n: I realized that I would like to explore how Dean would mourn Sam, while trying to adjust to his new life. So it is a What-if Sam hadn't showed up in the last seconds of the episode and was just plain dead story. (Not that that's what I want!) For me the hiatus of the show is also a loss of sorts. So I figure it makes sense to explore Dean's loss, until the action starts again. Hopefully some of you can enjoy my little story and forgive me my mistakes.

Duffel.

Another day, another sleepless night, another dawn to pass in a still strange home in Suburbia. In the last days Dean had developed kind of a routine: sneaking out of the bedroom, splashing his face with water and then watching the sun come up over the hills from the big window in the living room. Softly he placed his hand on the window frame and enjoyed the feeling of the cool, smooth wood under his fingertips. He had come to cherish the solitude before daybreak. With everybody else still asleep it gave him the space he needed, the space to mourn a loss so great he still couldn't fully comprehend.

He knew that he could trust Lisa. To his surprise she seemed truly happy to accommodate him and to let him in her life. And he knew that he should have told her why he seemed distant sometimes, and why his grins and kisses were fake, and why he couldn't wake up in bed next to her. It was just – he couldn't talk about it.

He knew exactly how saying the words out loud would make it all real. Dean still remembered vividly how his legs almost gave in when he first brought up his Dad's death to a stranger in a bar. He also remembered his childish refusal to acknowledge their Mom's death. For a while he kept pretending his mother was still around and kept asking his Dad when she'd be back until one day John snapped and screamed the harsh reality of their loss in his face. Later, after his father had apologized with tearstained cheeks, he'd told Sammy about it, his tiny brother who didn't understand a word of what was being whispered in his ears. But even though his moment of truth could only be heard by a careless infant, that was the moment when the impact of his mothers passing fully hit him and he finally understood that she was never going to come back from where the fire took her.

This time he just wasn't sure that he would be able to handle the force of the absolute truth. And he didn't want to take a risk anymore, those days were over now.

A sparkle caught his eye. It was caused by the first rays of sunlight hitting the black hood of his car. There she stood, looking just as out of place as he felt in this clean suburban neighbourhood. And wasn't there a hint of accusation in her look, as if she was urging him to give up this charade, to get back on the road where they belonged?

He scrubbed his face roughly. Maybe he was starting to lose his mind, standing here at sunrise, making up a conversation with his car. Pensive he watched the sunrays caressing more and more of his baby's metal frame. And then, with a sudden determination, he turned on his heels, grabbed the car keys and left the house.

In the crisp morning air Dean felt goose bumps rising on his arms and legs. Barefoot he made his way down the short driveway and stood by his baby's side. His hand rested briefly on the silver handle of the driver's door. Then his fingers traced their way along the sleek body of the Chevy back to the trunk. For a brief moment he hesitated, but it was inevitable. He opened the trunk gingerly as if it where the lid of a coffin and he were to last lay eyes on the embalmed remains of a lost lover or – worse – brother.

There it was, half hidden behind other less important items in the far back of the trunk – Sam's duffel, a rather unremarkable greenish-greyish canvas bag containing all of his late brother's belongings. The fabric was worn and tattered at places where big hands had gripped it every day, every single god-damn day for the past five years.

All of a sudden a thousand images of Sam with this bag in his hands flashed by in his mind's eye: moving it in and out of countless, strange rooms, opening it, closing it, dropping it by accident, carelessly slinging it over a strong shoulder, almost tearing it apart when something at the very bottom was needed fast.

Dean's vision blurred. He had to tighten his grip on the edge of the trunk. Why? Why? Why? He fought the urge to just crawl inside that bag and hide away forever. Instead, he bent forward and pulled the heavy load towards him. He maneuvered the duffel until he held it with both hands against his chest, closed the trunk awkwardly with his elbow and made his way back into the house.

In the living room he put it carefully on the couch and sat down next to it. His hands untied the strings and opened the buckles on their own account. The first thing he found was the plastic toiletry bag. He didn't need to open it to know what was inside so he just placed it on the coffee table in front of him. Clothes followed, all of them rolled to neat, tight bundles, socks and underwear were stuffed in between them to make use of even the tiniest gap. Carefully he took each of the painfully familiar Tees, shirts and trousers out of the bag. At the same time trying to avoid thinking of how they looked on Sam's tall frame and cherishing the fact that he was able to touch something that was uniquely Sam's. The faint, musky scent of his brother still stuck to the fabric and longingly he smelled on some of the clothes before putting them aside. He couldn't help but smile a sad smile as he realized that heavier items like an extra pair of ginormous boots were stored at the very bottom. This was done exactly by the book, and much tidier than his own. Sammy's always been the neat freak of the two of them. He smirked and shook his head preparing to crack a bad joke, when he realized that nobody was there to listen, especially not Sam to whom the snarky remark would have been addressed.

Dean started to go through his brother's stuff again, faster, more negligent this time, like a drowning man trying to grab the rope that could save him. There had to be something. Something that would tell him that everything would be Ok. Something that would tell him that Sam was close instead of lost forever. He went through every crease and every pocket and even turned the bag inside out before tossing it across the room. Just as his hand closed around a cool, palm sized object in one of the back pockets of his brother's Jeans, a voice broke through the turmoil.

"Dean?"

The hunter froze like a deer in the headlights. It was Lisa. She stood in the doorway, only wearing her nightgown, with tousled hair and arms wrapped around her body. She clearly just woke up.

"Dean, what are you doing?"

"It's ah… I uh…" He looked around the living room and realized that it was pretty messy with all of Sam's things scattered across the floor and furniture. "I… uh." He dropped the Jeans but held on to the cool metal item in his hand. For some reason he hoped that Lisa wouldn't see what it was.

She ran her fingers through her hair and obviously tried to fully wake up. "I heard the front door and then I realized that you weren't there and then I heard you rummaging around down here." She suppressed a yawn. "What are you doing?"

"I… uhm. I wanted to go through some of my stuff. You know, I uh… was searching for something."

"Wow, it's gotta be pretty important if you get up in the middle of the night to get it." She made a free space on the couch and sat down, watching his every move. "What are you searching for?"

Dean mentally slapped himself. Great! Just great! There he was, big wanna-be saviour, big plotter against evil, not even able to come up with a decent excuse to make his girlfriend go to bed again and leave him the hell alone! For some reason the fact that Lisa sat in the middle of his brother's belongings and even touched them made him boil with anger. He had to get rid of her. For lack of a better idea he just held out his palm. Her eyes grew wide with surprise.

"An i-pod?"

He nodded in defeat. "Yeah. I… uh… I woke up and for some reason I was wondering if I still had it. You know I thought I mighta have lost it somewhere and… and there are some songs on it… that I really like… and you know… it's such a bitch to get your favourite music again and again… I… uh… guess I went a little overboard here…" He glanced around the chaotic room. "I'm… Of course I'm gonna clean this up before you and Ben wake up. Well, before Ben wakes up at least…"

The more Dean heard himself talking, the emptier and weirder his own words sounded to him. Lisa couldn't possibly believe any of this. But he had to stick with it now.

"You know, why don't you just go upstairs again? Go back to bed, roll over, sleep a little longer and when you wake up in a few all of this will be gone, Ok?"

"Dean…" She didn't believe him. Of course.

Her eyes filled with sadness and warmth and sympathy all at once, she stood and walked a few steps towards him. He had to muster up all of his strength not to back off to the wall. A sad smile ghosted across her features. "Dean, I know…"

"Lisa!" It came out harsher than intended. "Please. Just let me clean up here. Give me an hour and it will all be gone. Please."

She hesitated. Suddenly the silence was weighing heavily between them. Her dark eyes seemed to look directly on the bottom of his soul. She came closer, slowly as if not to scare him. Then she placed her hand softly on his cheek while maintaining eye contact. Her thumb stroked gently across his lips and she smiled knowingly.

"You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to. I just want you to know that I am here to listen anytime."

"Lisa…"

She placed her index finger on his lips and shook her head.

"Shh. Hush. Take your time." Her hand sank down again. "I am going to bed." Without further hesitation she turned around and left the room. Dean heard her footsteps dying away on the stairs and then he was alone again and stumbled over to the couch where she had been sitting just a few minutes before. He sank down and felt tears building up in his eyes. Or not. There should be tears. He knew it. But they didn't come. So he just blinked a few times, thinking about what had just happened.

That woman was the one. There was no doubt. He had never encountered a purer, more understanding soul in his life. And he just didn't deserve it. His eyes fell on the i-pod he still clung on to. 'Sammy should have had this.' He thought. And wished the tears could finally start flowing just to take some of the edge off. But they wouldn't. Yet.

Dean placed the small portable player on the coffee table. Then he began cleaning up the mess he'd made. Half an hour later all of Sam's belongings had found their home in the old bag again. Deliberately he closed its straps and carried it back to the car. This time the short distance felt longer. As if he were accompanying a coffin instead of simply placing a duffel back into the trunk. Why did he have to think about burials all the time? And why couldn't there be a funeral? Why would even that opportunity to honour his brother's death be taken from him? Why? Why? Why?

With a bang he closed the lid of the trunk and the duffel was left sitting in darkness. Dean went back to the house, the warm sun on his shoulders and the cool concrete under his bare feet. Why just why was he so god damn alive, when he shouldn't be?


	3. Beer

a/n: Thanks for the reviews and for reading. Both is highly appreciated.

I don't know what is going on with me, but the muse seems to have me in her grip and doesn't let go of me in the moment. So, here is the next update already. The only thing I know for sure is, that I won't keep up this pace for long. But I guess I just go with the flow of the creative juices as long as they are flowing. Enjoy! (hopefully)

**Beer.**

This morning was different than the others before. He didn't wake up because of a nightmare and the sudden feeling of falling into a big black bottomless pit, but because of a noise from downstairs that shouldn't be there. The front door fell shut and Dean was wide awake, the instincts of a hunter still intact. Who in their right mind would enter a house in the twilight of dawn? The answer was simple: someone with no good intentions.

Dean got up without making a noise or waking Lisa. He would take care of this. No need to upset her. By now he knew his way around the house in the dark like he knew every single part of his car. For a second he considered grabbing something he could hit the guy with. But then he thought better of it. Whoever it was, he could take them on without a weapon, he had dealt with worse. Cautious and silently he made his way down the stairs, lithe as a cat, using the wall for cover. There were steps in the living room, almost non-audible, shuffling around, insecure. They seemed to make their way to the kitchen. And Dean decided to surprise their guest there. He took the short cut through the hall. He was lucky, the kitchen door stood slightly ajar, he opened it a little more and could see a silhouette moving towards the fridge. He gulped. The figure was huge. Dean hoped that the guy was just a bum and didn't know a thing about fighting, otherwise this encounter might get interesting after all. He opened the kitchen door a little more, his muscles tensed and he was ready to strike.

The guy in the shadows opened the fridge and a ray of light hit his face, long strands of golden brown hair framed it, that definitely needed to be cut.

Dean's mind went blank, his legs started shaking. "What the fuck?"

Sam turned around, surprised. "Dean." He smiled or at least Dean thought so. It was kind of hard to tell in the semidarkness. The hunter switched on the light and both men blinked against the sudden brightness.

"Sammy?"

Sam's eyebrows lifted reprehensively. "You'll never learn it. Will you?" He gave him a crooked grin and Dean was drawn towards him like a moth to the light. Only one second before he wanted to pull his brother into a rib-cracking embrace his instincts kicked in again. He said "Christo." and Sam started laughing.

"That's the first thing you can come up with? After were I've been? I could be anything and a simple demon is not the most likely creature after our latest adventures, don't you think?"

Dean nodded and then he realized that he didn't give a shit if this Sammy was an illusion or real, a trap or a sibling, the devil or his soul-mate, he just didn't care. It was Sam. He was here. And he pulled his tall brother towards him and clung on to him for what felt like an eternity. He didn't care if it was gay or not. Tears started flowing down his cheeks and he sobbed against Sam's strong chest like a child.

"Uhm, uh… Dean? Can't breathe, here. Uhm… I am happy to see you too, bro but I uh… air please?"

Dean hesitantly let go of him. He sniffed and started to laugh while tears were still streaming down his face. God, he was a mess. But he was so happy, he couldn't help it. Sam casually passed him a paper towel he'd found on the counter. Dean wiped his eyes and calmed down a little.

"You know that I will bring this up the next time you call me a bitch." Sam's eyes sparkled and Dean laughed. "I know. I know. Fair enough."

He couldn't take his eyes of Sam now that the first excitement was over. His brother looked good, healthy, and strong. He was nothing like the tormented soul he'd imagined him to be. "How did you get out?"

Sam sighed. "Dean… I'll tell you. But first we have to talk about something else. My throat is pretty dry. You got something to drink?" he pointed to the fridge.

"Oh, yeah! Of course! What do you want?" He didn't wait for an answer and pulled out two beers of the six pack he'd bought yesterday. A smile lit his brother's face. "Nice."

They opened the cans simultaneously, leaned their hips against the counter, and took a few sips shoulder next to shoulder.

Then Sam spoke again. "Dean I gotta talk to you."

Dean's heart fluttered happily in his chest, like a humming bird close to a blossom, he even didn't mind his brothers 'serious conversation' voice. "Shoot."

"You know, the way you've been doing things lately… It's not Ok."

The older one choked on his beer. "What?" He put down his can. "What are you talking about?"

Sam looked at him with a serious expression that reminded him a lot of Lisa for some reason.

"You know what I am talking about."

"I do? Fill me in, please!"

"It's just, you promised that you would be with Lisa and Ben. That you would take your chance on happiness and go for it. But that's not what you're doing."

"What? I am living here, now ain't I?"

"Yeah. You live here, you go through the motions, but you keep to yourself. You don't let them close. You're faking it."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"No way!"

"Come on Dean. I know how you feel in here." And Sam put one palm on the centre of Dean's chest. The exact spot were this painful, black emptiness had found its home in the last month. Sam's hand was warm and strong and Dean felt a little of that darkness disappear. He leaned into the touch, didn't want it to go away.

"Maybe you're right." He murmured.

"I know you, Dean. I am a part of you and I always will be. Don't forget that. And promise me that you will try to let Lisa and Ben become a part of you too."

Dean felt tears streaming down his face again.

"I can't." he shook his head weakly. "I just can't. It's just not the same."

"Maybe it will be some day."

"No." Dean started sobbing. "No it won't!"

"Promise me that you will try."

"But I did."

"Promise me you'll try harder."

Dean put his hand on top of Sam's and held it in place.

"Please don't leave. Stay with me a little longer. Please don't leave me alone."

He felt Sam disappear and desperately strengthened his grip. But his brother's warm smile became transparent. And then he was gone and the kitchen was empty. And then Dean woke up.


End file.
